


Shine on You Crazy Diamond

by Shearmouth



Series: I Wrote This When I Was 15: Old FF dot Net fics [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally constipated space bois, Friendship, Future Medicine, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably Not Very Accurate, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sickness, Supportive Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Takes place after the first movie, concussions yay, it gets better tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shearmouth/pseuds/Shearmouth
Summary: "I will be as brief as possible, Dr. McCoy." Spock almost looked concerned. "Do you know the whereabouts of Captain Kirk?" Post-Nero. Just where did Jim go to crash after the dust settled?
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Spock
Series: I Wrote This When I Was 15: Old FF dot Net fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559170
Comments: 7
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be finished! I know it hasn't been updated in like three years but I just rewatched Star Trek and now I want to finish it. I hope to have it done by the new year.   
> If I've missed any tags you think I should add, please let me know. I haven't worked on this fic in a while so it's possible I missed something worthy of tagging.

Leonard McCoy thought he knew what it meant to be tired.

He thought he knew, with good reason.

Twelve years of prep school. Four years of premed undergraduate. Med school for what seemed like a century. And while some of his most precious memories came from the latter two, and he would never regret or repent that time, he never really wanted to know what it felt like to only have coffee in your stomach– for nearly six straight days. College especially– he barely remembered his final semester because he was so goddamned sleep -deprived.

But now, as he finally sat down at what was now his desk, scrubs off for the first time in what felt like days, an exhaustion as he had never known tsunamied into him. The ship’s artificial gravity seemed to increase, dragging him down into the floor of the sickbay. He was bone-crackingly tired.

This had been, hands-down, the worst day of Leonard’s life. Worse than the day he watched the light go out of his father’s eyes. Worse than the day the court settled and Jocelyn got custody of his little girl. No, the last twenty-four hours had brought him to levels of desperation and despair he hadn’t even realized he was capable of feeling. Leonard McCoy was a doctor. He knew death. But the destruction Nero had wrought on the Enterprise, on the rest of the Fleet, even on Leonard’s own goddamned planet– it was staggering. Hollowing.

And now, as the last of the patients were resting stable on their biobeds, the adrenaline that had been keeping Leonard on his feet since this whole mess began was finally wearing off, taking his bones with it.

Bones…He grinned faintly, on the verge of delirium. Didn’t I tell Jim all I had left was my bones? That’s when he got that damn nickname in his head. Leonard secretly enjoyed it, though. Being given a nickname meant someone was paying attention to you. In Jim’s case, it meant he cared.

A cool, hard surface on his forehead. Leonard realized, distantly surprised, that his face was now resting on the desk, arms looped around the crown of his head. He decided me didn’t really care. His burned-out mind began to wander towards the emptiness of sleep.

“Dr. McCoy.” Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Dr. McCoy, wake up.”

Go away, he thought. Who the hell dared keep him from sleep? Leonard heatlessly wished a case of Andorian shingles on the owner of the hand that was trying to draw him back into an ugly reality. He shrugged the hand off and snuggled deeper into the crook of his elbow. Unless someone was dying, he would not be moved.

“Leonard, please.” It was a woman’s voice, speaking quietly. “Spock’s here.”

That snapped him up. Anger flared in his stomach, and Leonard raised his head, scowling.

Christine Chapel, face pale and dark circles under her eyes, was standing next to him. “Sorry, Leonard. But he says he needs you for something.”

“The hell does he want?” growled Leonard, rubbing his eyes. He still wasn’t feeling particularly friendly toward Spock. Yeah, the pointy-eared bastard had helped save Earth, kept the ship under control and had the balls to beam down to a planet about to go through a black hole in order to save the Vulcan High Council. That was all well and good. But he’d also beat the shit out of Jim– after marooning him on a god-forsaken ball of ice. Of course, Jim had been asking for it on both occasions, and it wasn’t like Leonard hadn’t wanted to punch the little asshole in the face before.

But Leonard still couldn’t scrub his mind free of the image of Jim held down, choking and gasping as Spock cut off his air, and the coldness in his eyes as he did it. Someone earnestly trying to crush the larynx of his best friend was not something Leonard could quickly forgive.

Best friend… and if he was honest, only friend.

Leonard bit his tongue to keep from cursing. Spock was the last, the absolute last person he wanted to see right now.

Christine looked beyond drained, but her eyes were sympathetic. “He wouldn’t say, just that he needed to speak with you personally. And after you do, I don’t want to see you back here in sickbay for at least two shifts.”

Leonard bridled foggily. “What?”

Christine’s jaw was set. “You get to your quarters, Dr. McCoy, and you stay there. Twelve hours rest, minimum. You’re a liability as a doctor without it, and you need to maintain your own health. Get some sleep.”

Leonard raised an eyebrow, frowning. There was too much to do yet. Reports to be written, patients to be monitored. Not to mention figuring out what the hell those Romulan bastards had put in Pike. He couldn’t afford to go off watch yet. “Last I checked, Nurse Chapel,” he said skeptically, “I outrank you. You can’t order me out.”

“And last I checked, Dr. McCoy,” Chapel replied, not missing a beat, “Head Nurse reserves the ability to order the Chief Medical Officer off duty should they feel said CMO could be endangering their patients or themselves.” She gestured to him. “Look at yourself, Leonard.”

He started to protest, but stopped when he glanced at his hands. They were shaking violently.

Past his hands, resting on the desk, was a PADD. The identification tag on the back read M. Puri.

Leonard felt like he’s been kicked in the stomach as it finally sank in.

CMO. Head Nurse. Less than a Terran day before, he and Christine had been Cadets McCoy and Chapel, Second Class. Now they were responsible for the lives of everyone on board one of the last Starfleet ships in space.

He closed his shaking hands and stood. “Okay,” he said, trying to not sound too defeated. “Twelve hours.”

Christine smiled, half sad, half distantly amused. “Get out of here, Leonard.” She returned to sickbay.

Leonard stood and didn’t bother swallowing his groan. Every part of his body throbbed with tiredness. And now he had to deal with a certain green-blooded hobgoblin.

Spock was standing in the main entrance of sickbay with his hands behind his back. His eyes were hooded, more shadowy than they usually were, and there was a slight dip to his shoulders Leonard had never seen before. He bottled his surprise; even Spock looked tired, and Spock never looked anything, except vaguely superior. But his greeting and stance were as formal as ever.

“Dr. McCoy,” he said, in his tone, as it typically was, vexingly polite. “Thank you for seeing me. You and your staff have had one of the heaviest burdens to carry during this crisis, and I am sure you are tired.”

You have no idea, Leonard thought darkly. “Yes, I am, Mr. Spock,” he said out loud, “so I would appreciate it if we could get this over with. What do you want?” He didn’t have the energy to be respectful.

Spock betrayed no emotion. “Of course, Doctor. I will make this as brief as possible. Do you know the whereabouts of Captain Kirk?”

Leonard frowned. Surprise, followed by apprehension tinged with dread, started to curdle in his stomach. He wanted to scream “You lost him!?” in Spock’s calm face.

Instead he growled. Leave it to Jim. “Kirk was supposed to report to sickbay two hours ago, when his shift officially ended. He was still being debriefed went I went to the bridge to drag the infant down here when he didn’t show up.” Damn Admiralty wouldn’t even let the kid get treatment for his injuries before grilling him.

The ghost of a frown twisted Spock’s features. “The debriefing concluded approximately ten minutes ago. Captain Kirk was ordered by the Admiralty to report to sickbay, followed by twelve hours time off duty. Due to the state of the ship and the casualties we have suffered, they deemed twelve hours the maximum affordable time before he would again be needed on the bridge.”

Leonard resisted the urge to scream. Twelve hours? No. Jim had suffered an allergic reaction, done a goddamned HALO jump onto a fiery drill, and been used as a punching bag by an enraged Vulcan– not to mention whatever other injuries he might have suffered on Delta Vega or when infiltrating the Romulans. Twelve hours was nothing after that kind of ordeal. Without even having looked him over, Leonard knew the kid would be needing four times that.

“The blatant bullshit in that order aside,” Leonard ground out, “the answer is no. I don’t know where Jim is.” And if I did, I’d smack him for not taking care of himself. “Can’t you locate him using the ship’s computer?”

“As the Captain was not officially assigned to the Enterprise back on Earth,” Spock said, “his information was not entered into the ship’s database. He name will not come up on any search.”

Leonard silently thanked himself for having the foresight to enter all of Jim’s medical information onto his personal PADD as a locked file when Jim asked Leonard to be his physician. Even thought he almost knew the kid’s allergies by heart at this point.

As for Jim’s earlier records…well, he knew those too, and that information wasn’t in Starfleet’s database anyway. It wasn’t in any database as far as Leonard knew. Jim had hacked that history into oblivion years ago. 

Leonard scrubbed his hand over his face. “If he’s not in the computer, how did you even know he didn’t report to sickbay when he was supposed to?”

Spock’s eyes had sharpened infinitesimally. He looked almost–shrewd. No, not shrewd. Knowing. Perceptive. “Judging by the way Captain Kirk has handled the events of the last twenty-four hours, he does not seem to be the kind of man who slows and comes to an eventual stop once a crisis has passed. I wished to confirm that the captain made it to sickbay safely, though I suspected otherwise. It seems my hunch, as the term goes, was correct.”

Leonard raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You, Mr. Spock? You acted on a hunch?” He didn’t point out what surprised him more: that Spock was concerned enough about Jim to make sure he got to Medical. Less surprising was that he’d been able to deduce Jim’s tendency to burn out until he was sure the job was completely done.

Spock seemed to ignore Leonard’s jab. “I asked Nurse Chapel upon my entry if the captain had reported as ordered.”

“And when you found out he hadn’t, you figured I would know where he went.” Leonard grinned ruefully. “Spock, there are two things you need to know about Jim Kirk. One, he is an absolute child when it comes to taking care of himself. The kid would run a mile before paying attention to the fact that his leg is broken. And two, if Jim does not want to be found, you will not find him. You could tear this tin can apart and it wouldn’t make any difference.”

Spock actually looked concerned now. The tightening of his eyes and lips, a slight set to his jaw. “The captain has sustained injuries that require treatment. It is imperative that we find him. Doctor, you are his friend. I would daresay you know him best, judging by the time you have spent together. Please think. Where would he go?”

Leonard ran his hands through his hair. He’d had a lid on his own worry all afternoon, trying not to think about how badly Jim might be hurt. He’d been so busy he’d been able to distract himself from fretting over one of the two people in the universe about whom he truly cared. And now here Spock was, telling him that person was missing.

“He could be anywhere!” Leonard snarled, trying and failing to keep his voice down. “Sometimes the kid just disappears. It’s how he is.” He racked his brain, trying to get inside Jim’s head without result.

Who was he kidding? Yeah, he knew Jim, better than just about anyone else. He knew the kid’s habits, preferences, even his story.

But Jim was also the smartest, most unpredictable person Leonard knew. Jim was a genius. His mind moved at the speed of light. It was as bright and sharp and impenetrable as diamond.

Leonard paused.

A memory surfaced– an old one, from almost two full years before. Images, feelings. A late night. Blood on the doorknob. A name whispered fearfully through the dark.

“Stay here,” Leonard ordered Spock. He ran back to his office and retrieved his bag, checking quickly to make sure it carried some of the few medicines to which Jim wasn’t allergic. The feel of the familiar genuine leather handles, coupled with the bag’s comforting weight, grounded him. He took a deep breath, clear now in what he had to do. He returned to the entrance to sickbay, where Spock stood waiting.

“I think I know where he is,” Leonard said. “And if I’m right, I’ll need your help. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

The hallways seemed to elongate treacherously as Leonard hurried down them, med bag heavy in his hand, Spock at his side. He was walking as fast as he could without running– despite the fact that the ship was (currently) not in danger, Leonard could sense the tension and fear still thick in the air, combustible. The CMO and First Officer running in the hallways could put a match to it, igniting a panic. No need for that. Leonard had already been more terrified today than he ever had been in his life, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one. He didn’t need a bunch of Redshirts going into shock and collapsing on the floor in front of him.

Yet his feet yearned to move faster. Jim was hurt, of that he was sure, and both the doctor and the friend within Leonard screamed for speed.

“Doctor,” said Spock, voice calm but low, drawing Leonard out of his internal convection cell of worry. “In regards to your earlier statement that you would require my help should your determination of the captain’s position be correct, I wish to point out that while I have received the requisite training in first aid and field medicine, I am hardly a medical doctor. Should you not have asked Nurse Chapel or someone more qualified than myself to accompany you?”

Leonard rounded a corner, swallowing a nervous huff. “Nurse Chapel is exhausted and monitoring sickbay. Everyone else is off duty or injured. To be frank, Mr. Spock, there are not very many medical hands to go around right now. I’ll probably need you, depending on Jim’s conditon. Also, you gave him half his injuries; the least you can do is help me clean up the mess.” He glanced up at Spock, and what he saw almost made him stop in his tracks.

Spock– flinched.

For a moment Leonard hadn’t believed what he had seen: a momentary pinching of the Vulcan’s usually smooth features, in what was an unmistakable and very…human…expression.

But it was the contrition in Spock’s tone that confirmed it. “I did not mean to in any way shirk responsibility for the injuries I have inflicted on Captain Kirk. Please believe me, Doctor, I am fully aware of the unforgiveable nature of my actions. Though I know the blows I landed can never be taken back, I would like to do what I can to ensure the captain’s wellbeing in the future.” Spock looked at the floor. “And, if at all possible, make up for what I have done.” For once, Spock was not meeting the eyes of the person he was addressing, and for the first time Leonard wondered if he had misjudged the pointy-eared bastard.

The rounded another corner. Not far now.

Leonard sighed. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Spock. Trust me, it’s not the first time Jim has tied himself to the tracks. You do realize he was goading you on purpose, right? Trying to show that you were emotionally compromised?”

Spock nodded. “I recognize this. It does not condone my actions, however.”

“Maybe not,” Leonard agreed. “But while Jim has the memory of an elephant and can be a vindictive bastard at times, he’s also quick to forgive the people he knows aren’t at fault. “ Leonard scoffed. “You did exactly what he wanted you to do, Spock.”

“Perhaps.” Spock seemed to consider it before changing the subject. “May I ask where we are going, Doctor?”

Leonard turned the final corner, his shoulders set in grim certainty. The memories playing through his mind since that first incident had raised their heads and dropped the answer in his lap back in sickbay.

He knew he was right, because there was only one place, one person, Jim went to when he had to let the walls come down. 

Leonard looked down the hall grimly. “My quarters.”

()()()()()()()

The first time it had happened, they’d only recently become what Leonard would consider close friends, and it hadn’t been Leonard’s dorm room.

It had been in the alley outside one of the shadier bars the Academy cadets frequented on the weekends, and Jim had broken bones.

Leonard was in the middle of studying. It seemed midterms were a total bitch across all spectra of academics. It was either very late or very early, and Leonard was far too tired to give a damn which. He rubbed his eyes before going back to rehashing his notes on the Terran eukaryotic phospholipid bilayer, and how many species in the Federation shared a similar structure that–

Brzzz. Bruzz.

Leonard groaned. Who the hell was comming him now? Maybe his roommate locked himself out again– but wouldn’t he just knock in that case?

Well, if it was at this hour it was either an emergency, something official or mundane enough to make him want to throw his comm into a reprocessor or out of a window, whichever was closer. He rubbed his eyes again before tiredly flipping it open. “McCoy.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then a voice come over the comm, breathy and familiar. “Bones?”

Leonard straightened. “Jim?” Why the hell was Jim calling him at–Leonard glanced at his comm screen– 2:13 AM?

Sure, they were friends. Leonard would say even close friends now. At first they were just drinking buddies, study partners, someone to sit with in the mess hall. But as the rigor of Academy academics began to set in and everyone buckled down for the long haul of the first semester, Leonard was surprised to find himself leaning on Jim more, and in small ways, Jim returning the gesture. Neither of them really had other friends. Still, it seemed weird for Jim to call him at this hour.

Weird, and irritating. Midterms were next week, for God’s sake. “What the hell, man? Do you know what time it is?”

“Bones…ah…”

Leonard sat bolt upright, his irritation vanishing. That was pain in Jim’s voice.

“Jim? Are you all right?” His doctor instincts kicked in, tired brain snapping awake like a switch had been flipped. Adrenaline flooded his system. “Talk to me, Jim.”

An exhausted moan. “Bones… need y’r help… I made a mistake….”

“Jim.” Leonard spoke with the clear, precise tone he assumed when speaking to a patient, when it was very important for a person to understand something. “Listen to me. Are you hurt?”

A beat. “Yeah…’m bleeding. Chest hurts. Got in a fight.”

“Tell me where you are. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Jim gasped hoarsely. “No, no ambulance, please Bones…I need you…here. I don’t trust them….please.”

Leonard stood and grabbed his field bag. “Okay, Jim, I’m coming. I need you to tell me where you are.”

“Bar..outside the bar…” Jim’s voice was getting fainter. “Downtown. The Marilyn.”

“I’m on my way,” Leonard said, slamming the door behind him. He knew the Marilyn; it was one of the most popular, more disreputable watering holes among the cadets. Luckily, it was also less than a mile from the academy dorms. He started running, keeping Jim on the comm the whole time. He tried to keep him talking, but quickly he turned monosyllabic, muttering about how he’d made a mistake. Leonard ran faster.

Within a few minutes the soundtrack of too much drink in too little space reached his ears: thumping electronic beats, incoherent shouting over the music, and intermittent, delighted screams. He slowed in front of the Marilyn. Civilians and a few out-of-uniform cadets Leonard recognized mingled outside the entrance, bathed in the light of hot-pink neon. He turned and followed his gut toward a cut of darkness on the right side of the building.

Beyond the light’s reach it grew significantly quieter. The road was empty and silent, save a quiet noise coming from the alley– coughing, raspy and tired. Leonard ran to the alley entrance and peered inside.

A figure was slumped against the wall nearby, arms and head resting bonelessly on the tops of his knees. Washed-out light from the residences above them caught on short blond hair, turning it silver. Jim.

Leonard entered the alley and knelt at his side. “Jim,” he said, gently placing his fingers on his friend’s carotid to take his pulse. “Jim, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

The punch was savage and precise, landing directly in Leonard’s left cheekbone. He yelled in pain and surprise (and more than a little anger) and fell back, simultaneously clapping a hand over his injury and throwing up another to stop the next blow.

Jim wasn’t done. Another blind haymaker followed, but Leonard could see it coming. It had none of Jim’s usual control and calculation; a knee-jerk reaction, self-preservation, pure and simple and clumsy.

Leonard caught Jim’s fist in his own. “Jim, Jesus, it’s me, it’s Bones! Calm down, Jim, calm down. You called me, remember? C’mon, look at me, kid.”

Slowly, the power behind the fist faded. Jim blinked hazily. “Bones…shit…” He dropped his arm, his body relaxing.

Collapsing, actually. Jim slumped against Leonard in an awkward pile of torso and limbs.

“Damn it, man,” said Leonard heatlessly, absorbing his friend’s weight. Jim sighed against his shoulder, spent. “Don’t you know I’m a doctor, not furniture?”

“S’ry I hit you,” Jim mumbled as Leonard leaned him back against the wall as gently as he could.

“Eh, I probably had it coming,” Leonard answered, pulling out a tricorder and beginning to scan his friend. “Talk to me, Jim. Where does it hurt?”

Jim doubled over in a coughing fit that actually made Leonard flinch in sympathy. His stomach turned, but he shoved away the feeling. He was a doctor, for God’s sake. He’d had other people’s blood on his hands more times than he cared to count.

But this was different. This was Jim, and damn it, Leonard cared about the kid. And seeing someone you cared about in pain is always hard, even for people like Leonard.

Jim fell back, groaning. Leonard gently leaned him against the wall again. “Head, stomach, chest,” Jim said quietly. “Think a couple ribs are broken.” He closed his eyes and leaned back like those few words had totally drained him.

“Well, you’d be right,” Leonard said, reading the tricorder’s findings. “Two broken, three cracked. No internal bleeding, but they’ll hurt like a bitch till they heal. You also sustained a concussion, cracked cheekbone and various lacerations, including a deeper one to the back of your head. Let me guess– beer bottle?”

“Vodka.” Jim grinned crookedly. There was blood in his teeth.

“Damn it, Jim, you need a hospital.”

“No.” Jim stared at Leonard, pleading. With the faint light and the blood on his face, Jim’s eyes looked icier than ever, but desperate too. “Please, Bones. No hospital.”

“Then why the hell did you call me?” Leonard asked, frustration creeping back. “If you needed a doctor– which you do– why not just call an ambulance?”

“I…can usually take care of stuff like this on my own.” Jim looked down. “This isn’t my first fight. But they dumped me out here, I tried to get up, and…” he gestured vaguely, but Leonard got the gist. Pain and shock tend to render legs obsolete. “I can’t fix this on my own. Please, Bones. I need your help.”

Leonard’s insides knotted. As a doctor, he felt the urge to get Jim to a safer, more sterile facility with the actual tools for the job. He was hurt badly; he needed medical attention.

And yet in Jim’s voice, on his face, was something Leonard had never seen in the kid before: vulnerability. The prerequisite to that was trust.

And Jim didn’t trust anyone.

Leonard sighed. Why did this always seem to happen to him?

He knelt down and drew his friend’s arm across his shoulders, hooking his other hand under Jim’s other arm. “C’mon, kid. You’re coming to my dorm. I’ll get you cleaned up. Someone’s gonna have to stay up with you to keep an eye on that concussion anyway, you damn infant.”

Jim moaned as they rose, but his legs were passably steady. They began making their way out of the alley. “You were studying anyway,” he mumbled.

Leonard frowned. “How’d you know that?”

Jim’s eyes slid shut as he let Leonard guide him. “Know you.”

A feeling almost forgotten warmed in Leonard’s stomach: comfort from a friend. “Why’d you go and get yourself into this fight anyway, kid?”

As they cleared the alley, Jim whispered something that made Leonard’s heart break. 

“It’s my birthday.”

()()()()()

Leonard scowled the memory away. It wouldn’t be like that this time.

They reached his quarters. Technically, they were Puri’s, but upon the former CMO’s death registration the assignment had automatically been changed to his successor, McCoy. It was a detail that would have escaped most, but Jim would have thought of that, Leonard was sure. Also, the quarters were a single. Jim wouldn’t retreat to a place with people. People other than Leonard, anyway.

He turned to Spock. “Listen, I’ve seen Jim when he’s hurt or sick. It ain’t pretty. Do exactly as I say, and nothing else. You’ll end up with a black eye or worse.”

Spock nodded once. 

Leonard scowled again. “Stay here. I need to assess his condition alone.” Because I’m the only one the infant trusts to see him vulnerable, Leonard thought darkly. “I’ll comm you when I need you.”

Spock nodded again, the same almost-concerned look momentarily darkening his eyes. “Understood, Doctor.” He moved to stand at attention next to the door, hands clasped behind his back.

Leonard turned away and let out a breath before punching in the entry code and going into the darkened room.


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard entered the silent cabin. “Jim?”

The door swished shut behind him, casting the room in total darkness. Leonard paused. “Lights, 10%.”

A feeble glow came from the ceiling. Leonard looked around but saw nothing. “Jim?” He moved forward, medical bag in hand. The room was utterly silent.

Except… what was that? A soft sound, an uneven muffled rasp, coming from the other side of the room. Near the ground.

_Shit._

Leonard surged around the foot of the bed. A figure, dressed in black with short blond hair, was lying facedown on the floor.

“Jim.” Leonard knelt and opened his medbag with one hand and gently checked Jim’s pulse with the other. Shit. Far too slow and faint for comfort. His breathing was raspy and labored. “Jim, it’s Bones. Can you hear me?”

No response. Leonard pulled out his tricorder and began scanning. He flipped open his comm with his other hand. “Spock, get in here,” he said tersely, closing the device without waiting for a response.

The tricorder beeped back its results. Leonard muttered a curse, but in relief. Not nearly as bad as he thought, but still bad.

The door hissed open, then closed. Spock knelt beside Leonard. “Doctor.”

“His trachea is bruised and severely swollen, two broken ribs and five cracked,” Leonard stated without introduction. “His lungs are intact, but the swelling in his throat combined with the stress from the rib fractures is putting too much pressure on his respiratory system. He’s unconscious, probably from the pain and not enough oxygen in his system. I’m going to give him an anti-inflammatory; once it kicks in we need to move him onto the bed and elevate his feet and stabilize his head. He also has a mild concussion, but I’m not worrying about that yet.” Spock nodded silently.

Leonard retrieved the appropriate hypospray, checked it, and pressed it into Jim’s bruised neck. There was a hiss as the medicine left the capsule and entered Jim’s bloodstream.

“His breathing should stabilize and improve in about thirty seconds,” said Leonard, loathing the gap. He had to wait for the treatment to take effect, but he hated the period of helplessness, unable to do anything for his friend. He reminded himself that before the invention of the hypospray he would’ve had to wait a lot longer. Not for the first time, Leonard thanked the common miracles of modern medicine.

“Doctor McCoy,” said Spock, “would it not be wiser to move the Captain to the medical bay? Its equipment and sterilization are far superior to the resources you have here.”

“No room,” growled Leonard, checking Jim’s pulse again. Finally, it was growing stronger. “The beds are full, including overflow, and I’m understaffed. Jim’s injuries are considerable , but he’s not in critical condition and can be treated on site. I’d rather not move him more than necessary anyway.” And he came here because he feels safe. Because he only trusts you.

Jim’s breathing started to even out, deepening and strengthening, but still not strong enough for Leonard’s comfort. Time to get him elevated.

“We need to move him, Spock,” Leonard said. He scanned the room. No board for lifting, not even a tabletop. Damn. “Okay, hand me that blanket.” Spock did, and Leonard laid it out next to Jim. “You take his torso, you’re stronger then I am. Try not to jostle his ribs. I’ll get his legs. We’re going to lift him onto the blanket and go from there.”

Spock nodded again, mouth set him a grim line.

Leonard rolled Jim over as gently as he could, holding back a sympathetic flinch. Jim’s face was bruised too, small cuts ringing one eye from his earlier fight with Spock. Finger and hand-shaped bruises lined his throat in a purpling collar.

“Okay, Jim,” he murmured, squeezing his friend’s shoulder gently.

Leonard and Spock switched places. They took their positions.

“One, two,” Leonard counted, “three.”

They lifted in unison. Jim moaned in pain, still unconscious but no doubt feeling it on some level. Leonard’s stomach clenched in empathy.

They deposited him on the blanket, then gripped the ends and lifted again.

And then Jim was safely on the bunk, body relaxing into the mattress. Leonard allowed himself a minute relaxation.

“Spock, pass me that pillow,” Leonard ordered. Spock complied, and Leonard gently lifted Jim’s feet onto it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would help with the blood flow. Then he moved to Jim’s head and arranged the remaining pillows to support his head and neck. He fished out one of the painkillers compatible with the anti-inflammatory (and with Jim’s fucked-up, allergic-to-everything immune system) and administered it. Jim tensed in his sleep at the hypo, then relaxed again.

Leonard ran a hand over his hair wearily. “Well, that’s all I can do for now. He’s stable for now, and the painkiller should be kicking in soon.”

“What of the concussion?” asked Spock.

“The anti-inflammatory should help address that,” Leonard answered tiredly. “I’d give him a stimulant to wake him up, but he’s not in any immediate danger, and I don’t want to put any more drugs into his system. If the concussion was any worse I would, but I think it’s better to let him sleep some of it off and wake up in his own time. When he’s conscious I’ll get some fluids into him.” Leonard pulled up a chair– Puri, thankfully, had some actual interior design going on in his cabin– and settled in for the long haul. “Spock, I don’t need you anymore. Thanks for your help, but I’ve got it from here. You can go.”

No response.

Leonard frowned in confusion and glanced up.

Spock hadn’t left. In fact, he was pulling over a chair of his own. He folded himself elegantly into it as Leonard stared. “Spock? Did you hear me? I’ll watch him.”

“With all due respect toward your medical ability, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said with the same almost-wry tone he’d used on Leonard in the hallway after he’d ditched Jim on Delta Vega, “you would do well to evaluate your own condition. I believe Nurse Chapel ordered you off duty before you met with me.”

Leonard bristled. “This doesn’t count, Spock. This is me looking after Jim until he wakes up. I’m not on duty, damn it.”

“You both need to rest,” Spock stated. “I will watch over the captain, and inform you as soon as the need arises. It is truly the least I can do, given the circumstances.”

Leonard opened his mouth to protest, then slowly closed it. Damn him, but Spock was right. Exhaustion of a caliber he’d never experienced was yanking Leonard toward unconsciousness. Concern for Jim was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment, but that would soon too fail as the wait began.

Nevertheless, he scowled. “You can’t tell me you’re not tired, Spock. You’ve been through it just like the rest of us.”

Spock dipped his chin in a conciliatory gesture. “I will admit I am tired, but not on your physical and emotional level. Being half-Vulcan allows me to retain function far beyond human capacity, and we recover much of our energy through meditation. Simply sitting quietly is one of my primary forms of rest, Doctor. My keeping watch over the captain while you rest would be beneficial for both of us.”

God damn it. Leonard hesitated. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Spock to keep an eye. There was a difference between distrust and honest dislike. No, it was because it was Jim, and as Jim only trusted Leonard to treat him, Leonard only really trusted himself to watch over him.

Yet he was starting to suspect Chapel was right. He’d be in danger of violating his Hippocratic oath the next time he laid a hand on someone if he didn’t rest soon.

Leonard sighed, capitulating. “You get me if anything happens,” he said warningly. “Anything. His breathing speeds up, he gets clammy or feverish, hell, if he sleeptalks you wake me, Spock. I mean it. And I’m not leaving the room.” Leonard stood, dragging his chair, and moved over to sit in the slightly more padded chair at Puri’s desk. He propped his feet up on his original chair and shifted until comfortable. “I’ll catch a few winks here. Got it, Spock?”

Spock simply crossed his legs in his chair in a pose reminiscent of the human lotus. “I understand, Doctor. Rest well.” He turned away.

Leonard swallowed a final growl before sleep dragged him down for good, remembering the last time he’d settled into a chair, waiting for Jim to wake up.

()()()()

Coffee.

It was the only coherent thought in his mind. He needed coffee to survive, or at least heavily caffeinated tea. Leonard didn’t like relying on substances to keep functional, but caffeine was different. Caffeine was a necessity to academy survival. He’d learned this early on; when you’re focusing on six different subjects at once, all of them dragging you in completely different directions and demanding your full input every single time… sleep tended to go by the wayside. Therefore, stimulant in the form of bean juice.

It was the end of the day, almost the end of the school year. Oh God, was he ready for it. This first year had been one of the most challenging in Leonard’s life. Academically…and socially.

It had been a jump, that was for sure. Going from a quieter, comfortable clinic in Georgia to the pulsing, encroaching, multi-layered loudness of several thousand people of many different species in one of the most historically colorful and diverse cities on Earth. It didn’t help that Leonard was older than most of the other cadets, either. The majority of these kids were just that: kids. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed early twenties postgrads with hardly a mark on them, physical or mental. Leonard enlisted at twenty-seven with more emotional baggage than he cared to often think about. Before arriving at the academy, he methodically and deliberately built a shell around his personality, promising himself that he would throw himself into his work in order to move past what had driven him here. And if that came off as antisocial gruffness, all the better. Better for others that way, and for him.

It had largely worked, with only one real exception.

An exception who hadn’t showed up to lunch that day.

Leonard frowned as he got in line for coffee at his favorite street vendor near the dorms. Sure, Jim had completed almost all of his exams– Leonard was pretty sure he had one more two days from now– but even if he didn’t need to be in the building for class, the two of them always met for lunch. Leonard had waited for twenty minutes before figuring something had come up, and Jim would explain later. Still, it was unlike him to just blow Leonard off.

The line shuffled forward, but suspicion and confusion started to gnaw at Leonard. It had been nearly a year since they’d met, and he and Jim had bonded in a way that Leonard had never seen coming. As another social outlier– smarter, grittier, and far, far sharper than most anyone else in his class– Jim had been left out of the cliques and friend groups that formed in the first weeks of the school year. Somehow, he and Leonard had gravitated toward each other and become friends. They were outcasts together even before that night Jim called him from the alley outside the bar downtown, and Leonard had found him bloody and beaten and waiting for him, willing, needing at last to let the walls come down.

He’d thought he’d known who Jim was–or who his father was, anyway– before then. He’d heard it through the academy gossip and only half-believed it. The story had seemed too dramatically poetic to be true. The son of the great George Kirk, hero and martyr, returned from obscurity to follow in his father’s footsteps? Please.

Then Jim had whispered those three simple words, repeated too many times before in joy rather than deadened sorrow.

_“It’s my birthday.”_

Leonard took the kid back to his dorm, cleaned him up and listened as Jim, monotone and not meeting his eyes, told him that piece of his past. That he really was George Kirk’s son.

It was all he told him, but it was enough. Jim acted cagey and nervous around Leonard for a week after, but once Leonard had made it clear that he wasn’t going to blab their conversation all over campus, Jim started to relax.

So did Leonard. Over drinks and late nights in the library and jut hanging out enjoying one another’s company, Leonard started telling Jim more about his own past. The divorce. Joanna. His own father’s death. Jim was a good listener. And for reasons still vague to him, Leonard trusted him to keep his secrets, as he kept Jim’s. Jim in turn released little shards of his shrouded personal history, never enough for Leonard to stitch together the whole picture, but something to help him understand his friend a little better.

Though it was becoming increasingly clear to Leonard: he would never understand even half of the sharp-edged, light-catching inner workings of James T. Kirk. 

Leonard sighed tiredly as he trudged up the steps toward his floor. Well, he didn’t need to understand him. Not to be his friend, anyway. He just had to look out for the kid, make sure he didn’t get his ass thrown out of the academy or his face beaten in on the weekends.

His shoe scuffed on the sandpapered surface of the top step as he paused. When did I start thinking like this? Like he’s someone I need to protect? There was only one other person on Earth or in space about whom Leonard felt that way, and she was living with her mother, thousands of miles and one video message a week away, far beyond his ability to do anything for her safety.

Leonard shook out the thought with a growl and proceeded to his dorm. He was Jim’s friend, and he would watch his back, sure, but he wasn’t his goddamn babysitter. The kid was probably out at a bar somewhere, decompressing and flirting with the female and breathing. Or, more likely, he was holed up someplace on campus, coffee at one hand, PADDs and reference books scattered all around in academic ejecta as he crammed for his last exam.

So Leonard hadn’t seen him at all that day, it didn’t mean he was on the side of the road somewhere. He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering exactly when he had let himself become this concerned with another adult’s wellbeing. He had to stop worrying so much.

With a drained sigh, Leonard punched in his code. His roommate was out on an end-of-year weeklong internship (the lucky little shit got to attend a colonization initiative two parsecs away instead of suffering through finals), and Leonard had been secretly reveling in the peace and quiet. His exhaustion faded fractionally at the concept of drinking his coffee and studying in silence for once. He slung his satchel off unceremoniously to the ground as he walked inside. His medkit followed suit with a more tender impact. “Lights, eighty percent,” Leonard announced.

Soft light poured from the ceiling just as the grunt of pain reached Leonard’s ears.

It was a soft sound, but enough to make Leonard’s entire body tense. His senses opened up, and for a sharp second he was on high alert, taking in information and studying the room. He was a doctor; he knew what pain sounded like, knew what it smelled like at this point. The rotten scent of stress and sickness permeated the room; he was surprised he hadn’t noticed it as soon as he walked in. The room was cooler than he had left it, which meant the temperature had been manually turned down. Someone had gotten into his room.

It had to be his roommate. Adrian must have gotten sick on their internship and come back early. “Adrian?” Leonard called tentatively.

Another moan, coming from the couch he and Adrian shared. It was turned away from the door, so Leonard couldn’t see who was in it. 

Leonard toed off his boots and padded toward the couch, still tense. He couldn’t be sure, but that moan hadn’t sounded much like his roommate.

And just like that, the pieces of the day fell into place. His stomach dropped. 

“Jim?” He rounded the couch, praying he was wrong.

A figure was curled into the couch, back to Leonard, the blanket usually slung over the back of the couch pulled tightly over him. Short blond hair, shiny with sweat, was all Leonard could see above the blanket. Adrian had black hair, and even without the process of elimination, Leonard’s gut had known who was here.

Leonard sighed and knelt next to the couch, placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Damn it, kid.” He slipped a hand under Jim’s chin to place his fingers on his carotid. His pulse was steady but his skin felt feverish. “What’d you get yourself into this time?” Leonard stood to retrieve his medkit from where he’d left it near the door.

When he came back to the couch, he was surprised to find two fever-bright blues peering back at him. Jim had rolled over and was focusing on Leonard, but hadn’t moved from the fetal position.

Leonard knelt. “Hey, Jim,” he said, quietly but clearly. “You’re stealing my couch now, not just my coffee?” Jim had gotten into the bad habit of lifting Leonard’s mug in the morning and returning it effectively empty. The man could chug caffeine.

Jim didn’t answer. He just blinked tiredly and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, despite the sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead and temples.

Leonard scowled as he pulled out his tricorder and began running it over Jim. Given their history of getting heroically drunk at the end of finals, Leonard would’ve coined this as a textbook hangover. Would’ve, except he knew that after a long night out Jim tended to lock himself in his room and nurse a cup of coffee for an hour then take a long walk down by the waterfront. He’d never broken into Leonard’s dorm room to commandeer his couch and moan in the fetal position.

“Jim?” Leonard asked gently, not looking away from the instrument in his hand. “What’s going on, man? What hurts?” Even though the tricorder would come back with results in a minute, Leonard still preferred to get the patient’s input first.

Jim was silent. Leonard frowned again and looked away from the tricorder screen.

Jim wiggled his hands out from under the blanket. _You know USL?_ he signed.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know USL, Jim. It’s only the preliminary language in every school in the Federation.”

 _Just checking,_ Jim signed. _I never know; you’re so old they might not have had Universal Sign Language in place when you were in elementary school._

Leonard flipped him a sign that had been commonplace far before USL. Jim cracked a grin, then winced. Some of the silent tension in Leonard’s gut uncoiled; if Jim was still coherent enough to have a sense of humor, that was something.

“Why can’t you talk?” asked Leonard, even as the tricorder beeped its feedback.

 _Throat,_ Jim motioned. _Feels like someone stuck a laserblade down it. Hurts to talk._

“I’ll bet,” Leonard said, scanning the tricorder’s results. “Looks like all your fornicating has finally come back to bite you, kid. You got the kissing disease.”

Jim raised a lecherous eyebrow. _I’ve had that far longer than 24 hours, Bones._

Leonard rolled his eyes again. “Mononucleosis, you moron. They called it the kissing disease because it’s spread through bodily fluids. Including spit.”

Jim frowned. _Why haven’t I heard of it?_

“It’s rare,” Leonard answered, “at least now. Was pretty common back in the day, especially among infants. No wonder why you got it, then.”

Jim gave him a foul look. Then he started coughing.

The sound alone made Leonard’s stomach take another nosedive. Jim’s coughs were strangled and thick with pain.

Leonard lifted Jim’s head and torso up and leaned them against his own. Jim continued coughing, doubling over in the effort. Leonard flinched in sympathy. He’d gotten mono when he was seven, and he remembered exactly how much it had hurt. Still, when tears squeezed from Jim’s eyes, Leonard felt a jolt of surprise. In all the time he’d known him, even on the multiple occasions when he set a broken nose or regened torn skin from Jim’s bar fights, he’d never seen the man cry. He knew how high Jim’s pain tolerance was, which meant the pain he was in now was considerable. Leonard grit his teeth and rode it out with him as the coughs slowly subsided.

“Jim,” Leonard said lowly as Jim curled even tighter into himself. “You should go the infirmary. It’s gonna take about a week for the worst of this to work itself out of your system. They can give you IV painkillers and drugs to reduce the swelling in your throat.”

Jim opened his eyes blearily and looked up at Leonard, and the doctor was suddenly struck by just how young Jim was. He was barely a year over legal drinking age, for God’s sake. And despite the partying and drinking and sleeping around, there were times when Leonard thought he got a glimpse of an old soul in his young friend, older than it should have been. Leonard found himself wondering darkly how that age had gotten there.

Jim shook his head. _I’m not going there._

Leonard frowned, irritated. “You said that last time I patched you up. What’s the big deal, Jim? They can treat you better than I can.”

Jim shifted so he was leaning against the back of the couch instead of Leonard’s chest. His head hung in exhaustion, cheeks flushed with sickness and pain. _Can you keep a secret, Bones?_ He signed.

The question was so abrupt and unexpected Leonard had to run the signage over again in his head and wonder if he’s mistranslated. “Trust me, Jim? What– why?”

 _It’s about my medical records. Can you keep a secret?_ Jim asked again. He wouldn’t meet Leonard’s eyes.

A black feeling coiled in Leonard’s gut. Something was running much deeper here than mono.

Leonard hated secrets. He hated that they were necessary. He hated how they ate people up or drove them apart. But that vulnerability was back, the openness in Jim’s stance and face and young eyes that Leonard never saw him show to anyone but him. And he knew he could never refuse or refute that level of trust.

He sighed. The feeling in his gut was growing, like he was going to learn something he never wanted to know, but he said, “Yeah, kid, I’ll keep your secret. But tell me when you can speak with your voice. Lie back down, I’m going to the clinic and getting you drugs. You’re not leaving this room until I say so.”

It was a testament to his exhaustion that Jim didn’t even put up a fight. Leonard guided him back down to the pillow gently and pulled the blanket over him. “If you’ve moved when I get back, you won’t have to worry about mono; I’ll kill you myself.”

Love you too, Bones, Jim signed, before covering his eyes with his right hand and heaving a big sigh. Leonard took the hint and dimmed the lights before filling a lidded plastic mug with water, sticking a straw in it and leaving it within Jim’s reach. “Try to have drunk some of that by the time I get back,” he instructed. “If you get too dehydrated I’m not going to have a choice, Jim, I’ll have to take you to the infirmary and put you on IV fluids. I’ll let you stay here but you’re not dicking around with this, you hear me?”

Jim didn’t remove his hand from his eyes, but he found the mug with his other hand and took a sip in response.

Driven by a sudden, protective urge, Leonard reached down and grasped Jim’s forearm. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jim stiffened at the contact, then relaxed. He set the mug down, rested his fingers on Leonard’s gently, then signed, _OK._

Leonard squeezed his arm one more time before turning, throwing on his coat and locking the door behind him.

He hadn’t intended to run. But he did. The ten-minute walk across east campus to the Medical Commons flew by in about four. He slowed before the doors of the clinic and swiped himself in. It was fairly late by this point, and the clinic was quiet. He wrote a prescription and checked out the necessary doses of the drugs Jim would need.

The mug hadn’t moved when Leonard got back. Neither had Jim. Leonard dragged one of the desk chairs over to the side of the couch and rested a hand gently on Jim’s shoulder. “You awake, kid?”

Jim gave him a weary thumbs-up. _You bring drugs?_

“You bet,” Leonard said. “I’m going to give you something specifically for mono; it’ll help with the swelling in your throat and give your immune system a boost. Even with today’s medicine you can’t knock mono out in one go. And also a compatible steroid that’ll help with the pain– what?”

Jim was shaking head minutely. _Steroids, you said?_

“Yeah,” Leonard answered, a little baffled. “Why?”

Jim looked away. Was he– embarrassed? _I’m allergic to steroids,_ he signed, lips pursed in chagrin. _And about seventy other drugs._

“You’re shitting me,” Leonard said blankly. “No. You’re completely shitting me.”

Jim still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re allergic to steroids? What else? How have you never told me that?”

Jim looked up at him. He had the balls to raise an eyebrow. _Have you ever actually seen my medical file?_

Leonard opened his mouth to snap back a retort– and then realized…”No, I guess I haven’t.”

_And do you know any doctor here who has?_

Leonard narrowed his eyes. “What’re you getting at, Jim?”

_My medical file is sealed. It can only be accessed by an attending physician of my choosing._

This night was just getting better. “What the hell are you talking about, Jim?” Leonard growled. “Every cadet’s file is open access throughout medical. That’s how we know what not to give everyone when they come in unconscious from a training accident. It’s protocol.”

Jim, despite the sheen of fever on his cheeks and the pain in his eyes, gave him a look that spoke volumes. Of course. Jim had been admitted to the academy with virtually no normal screening, after beating the shit out of a few fresh recruits. Almost nothing about the kid was protocol.

 _It’s sealed,_ Jim repeated. _Until I or Pike says otherwise. I guess I just did._

Leonard ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Pike…? So what happens when you get stabbed coming back from a bar and the doctor on duty doesn’t know what blood type you are because your damn file wouldn’t be accessible?”

 _I suppose they’d have to gues_ s, Jim signed.

“Jesus Christ, Jim,” Leonard snarled.

 _Bones_ , Jim signed, some of the exhaustion coming back into his movements. _I promise I’ll explain everything after this. Just give me the mono drug; forget about the steroid._

“This is the only high-level painkiller compatible with this treatment,” Leonard protested. “It’ll help with the swelling and actual sickness but won’t do jack shit for the pain on its own.”

 _It’s okay, Bones. I don’t mind_. Jim closed his eyes, the conversation seeming to have used up whatever dregs of energy he had left.

Leonard sat back and ran his hands through his already abused hair again. “Dammit, Jim. At least let me give you a sedative so you can sleep.”

Jim didn’t move, but it seemed to Leonard that he tensed again. He shook his head.

Leonard sighed. “Look, kid. I clearly don’t know you like I thought I did, but I still consider you my friend. My only friend, really, and if you were anything else you’d be in the infirmary already. You came to my dorm, took over my couch, and for some reason I let you steal my coffee in the morning and you listen to me talk about my shitty-ass marriage and shitty-ass divorce and the little girl I love more than the world. That’s gotta count for something. I don’t know what you’re running from, Jim. I don’t care. You’re my friend, and I’m staying here with you, whether you like it or not. Take the damn sedative.”

He rested his hand on Jim’s once more, and gently, he added, “I’m not going anywhere, kid. I’ll keep an eye on things.” Jim looked up at him, again with those ancient, youthful eyes, and for a moment Leonard could almost see the battle of instincts going on inside him, stripped bare by pain and tenderness.

Oh, Jim. Where have you been?

Then, slowly, Jim nodded. _How long will I be out?_ he asked.

“Two hours. Then you need to hydrate, and eat something if you can. The other drug should be having an effect by then.”

_Okay. Go ahead._

Leonard nodded and administered the treatment as gently as he could. The hiss of the hypo was harsh in the quiet room.

“I’ll be at my desk, okay?” Leonard asked. “Just over there. If you wake up and can’t see me, don’t freak out. I’m right here.”

Jim nodded again. Already he was blinking more. He’d be out like a light in a minute. “Okay,” Leonard said again. He stood.

And was tugged back. Jim had caught his sleeve and was looking up at him. _Bones,_ he signed. _Thanks._

The sign was simple, but the words in Jim’s eyes were many. Leonard felt a lump form in his throat. He squeezed his friend’s fingers. “No problem, kid.”

After Jim fell asleep, Leonard went to his desk, but the subjects that had seemed so pressing and urgent had suddenly lost their fire. He ended up pulling out a book– a real book, old and loved and whose pages smelled like a story– and settled back in the chair next to the couch. Jim was dead asleep, relaxed like someone stole his bones, but Leonard started to read softly aloud anyway. It was a story he had always loved even as a child, about a horse who would become leader of the land he loved.

“…On this night, Bel Bel, the cream brumby mare, gave birth to a colt foal, pale like herself, or paler, in that wild black storm…”

He held the book to ground himself when, eight days later, Jim told him about Tarsus IV.

“Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard’s eyes flicked open as Spock’s urgent voice cut through his sleep. If he could even call it that– his neck and back ached loudly and his dreams had been hazy and bloody, but he pushed the pain out and surged upright. “Spock– what is–“

And that was when the first scream reached his ears.


	4. Chapter 2

The room shrinks when someone you care about is in pain.

Leonard had noticed this a long time ago, as he knelt next to his dying father, cold-paper hands clasped between his own. He had watched, almost fascinated, by the way his vision tunneled, the only object of an importance on the bed before him. Everything else had blurred out.

Now it was happening again, as he leapt out of his chair and rushed to where Jim lay thrashing and crying out on the bunk.

“Jim,” he said, loudly and force-calmly as he knelt. “Wake up, Jim, it’s okay. You’re having a nightmare.” He knew better than to try and shake Jim awake– he’d done it in the past and ended up with a black eye. Instead, he did what he knew worked, and gently grabbed started running his hands through Jim’s hair. The kid’s skin and hairline gleamed with clammy sweat.

“Don’t let him kick himself off the bed, Spock,” Leonard ordered. He distantly registered the Vulcan moving toward Jim’s feet before turning his attention back down. “Jim. It’s Bones. You’re safe, you don’t have to fight. I’m here. I need you to wake up.”

Jim’s eyes were moving rapidly beneath their lids. Shit. He was in deep with this one.

“It’s a nightmare, Jim. It’s not real, you’re not there anymore. It’s okay.”

There were words in the whimpers now, broken and ragged with fear. “Please…not them…” 

“Jim,” Leonard said, swallowing his dread. He knew what his was about. “It’s me. You’re safe. Wake up.”

Jim suddenly went violently still. Leonard jolted in fear, and his hand went to Jim’s wrist on instinct. His pulse was rapid and shallow.

“Jim–“

A harsh whisper slipped past Jim’s lips without warning. “No, no–it’s Kodos–“

Leonard reeled back, stunned. _Fuck._

Jim whimpered again. A tear bled from the corner of his scrunched-up eye.

Something about seeing Jim cry was enough to separate Leonard the doctor, logical and medically detached, from Bones the friend, whose better judgment and a good piece of his heart had gone out the window the day he met Jim.

Leonard slapped Jim across the face.

Jim’s eyes flew open and he jackknifed up. The confusion in his ashen face was enough to jolt Leonard back into place. He placed a hand, deliberately gentle but enough to be felt, on Jim’s cheek, which turning red from the slap. “Jim? Can you hear me?”

Jim blinked, slowly at first, then rapidly as the world made itself known. “Bones…?” His voice was thin and painfully hoarse.

Leonard relaxed a little. “Yeah, kid. It’s me. I’m right here. Just take it easy.”

“What…?” Jim lifted his head like he wanted to sit up, and abruptly fell back. “Oh…ow. Ow, fuck.”

“What hurts?” asked Leonard.

“Everything,” Jim groaned. He blinked, looking confused. “Did you fucking slap me?”

Leonard winced. “Sorry. I couldn’t get you to wake up. You were having a nightmare, and you were going to hurt yourself worse.”

Jim nodded, looking at the ceiling. “Figured. Thanks.”

Leonard patted Jim’s cheek lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Jim groaned quietly. “Shitty. Sore. Throat hurts.” His eyes roved around the room. When they fell on Spock, standing silently on the other side of the bed, Jim stiffened minutely. Anyone could have missed it, unless they had spent as much time with the kid as Leonard had.

Or if they were as observant as Spock. At Jim’s flinch, Leonard saw the Vulcan’s features tighten. His eyes went to the floor.

Jim looked even more confused. “Spock? What…?” He looked to Leonard. “What happened? How’d I get here?” 

Leonard straightened, taking a tricorder from his bag and scanning Jim’s ribs. “Well, you decided to skip out on your mandatory medical exam after your meeting with the admirals. When you didn’t show up, I figured you’d come here.” Leonard frowned, sticking on something Jim had said. “What do you mean, how did you get here? Jim, do you know where you are?”

Jim’s brows furrowed. He scanned the cabin again, still mostly bare. “I– no. I don’t.”

Leonard put down the tricorder. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Walking out of the ready room, after the meeting. I was in the lift, and then it just kind of blurs.”

 _Exhaustion and oxygen deprivation_. Leonard silenced his diagnostic voice. Jim had gotten here without asphyxiating. That was all that mattered.

“You’re in my quarters, Jim,” Leonard explained. “As far as I know, you came straight here. And somehow you knew my passcode.”

Jim smirked faintly. “You…use the same code for everything, Bones.” He was sounding increasingly tired, so Leonard picked up the narrative.

“Spock came to me in Medical. He wanted to make sure you’d showed up for your exam. When I found out you were already out of your meeting, I had a hunch I knew where you’d gone. Brought Spock if I needed help. We found you on the floor.”

Jim rubbed his eyes as he took in the information. “Peachy.” He ghosted his fingertips over his neck where the hypo had gone in. “What’d you give me?”

“Anti-inflammatories and painkillers. You should be feeling a lot better here shortly.”

Jim nodded. The wild fear of before had gone out of his eyes, leaving his entire posture drained. Some of the color was coming back into his cheeks as the stress on his airway diminished, but he still looked tired as hell. He seemed almost distracted though, and Leonard caught him shooting another furtive glance at Spock, his jawline tight.

Spock didn’t miss it. He straightened. His face, if possible, closed further. “Captain, Doctor McCoy. If my assistance is no longer required, I shall return to the bridge for Gamma shift.” His dark eyes had hidden their humanity; it was all Vulcan discipline in his gaze that met Leonard’s own.

Leonard glanced at the shift monitor on the far wall. _Damn, it’s Gamma already? I slept longer that I thought._ He looked back to Spock. The tension radiating off him was almost tangible. He didn’t look at Jim.

Jim lay ironclad. His expression was carefully nameless, but Leonard knew him well enough to see the anxiety he was hiding. Tamping down another flare of anger at Spock, Leonard nodded. “We’re good here, Spock. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Spock said. “Captain.” He nodded at Jim, before turning and walking out. The room flooded briefly with light from the passage before the door hissed closed.

Jim let out a soft sigh, running a hand gently over his eyes. Leonard grimaced. They’d all been through hell, but Jim had gotten several distinctly shitty flavors of it. And he seemed to have been especially affected by his fight with Spock. Jim didn’t usually like talking about this kind of thing, even with Leonard, but Leonard knew this would fester if Jim didn’t get it out in open air.

Just as Leonard was about to open his mouth, Jim murmured, “How the hell do I apologize to him, Bones?”

That threw Leonard for a loop. He closed his mouth with a soft pip. 

Jim was silent and unmoving. His eyes were down and shadowed.

“What are you talking about, Jim?” Leonard asked, gently but uncertainly. “I mean, he’s the one who tried to choke you to death, last I checked.”

“Because I goaded him,” Jim replied flatly. “Because I basically called him an emotionless robot who never even loved his own mother– his own mother who had just _died right in front of him_.”

Leonard didn’t really know what to say to that.

Jim continued in a rush. “I mean, I know that I needed to do what I did, but Jesus…how do I apologize for that?”

Leonard sighed, settling into the chair next to the bed. He dropped his hand on the sheets absently, not touching Jim, but letting him feel the weight of his presence. Jim’s arm moved over an inch so his bare skin was touching Leonard’s and soaking in the warmth. Jim was weird when it came to physical contact. Sometimes he was made of stone, cold and withdrawn, flinching at a touch. Other times he was all hands and limbs, seeking a tangible reminder of someone else being nearby. Leonard had always thought it was a loneliness thing. Sometimes Jim needed to be alone within himself. Sometimes he needed contact and didn’t seem to know it, almost unconsciously sliding toward Leonard across the couch if they were watching a holo or studying, resting his calf against Leonard’s under a table or across a bench. Knowing Jim as well as he did by now, he could tell that tonight he needed that physical reassurance. In the bed, as his arm settled against Leonard’s, Jim relaxed minutely.

Leonard rubbed a hand over his eyes in exhaustion. “You’re going to have to cut yourself a little slack on this, Jim. You did what you had to do. Earth would be a damn hole in the sky right now if you hadn’t gotten Spock to admit to being compromised.”

“I know,” Jim muttered. “But it was a bastard thing to do. He’ll never forgive me for it.”

“I think that’s a little hyperbolic kid, given that you just helped him save his last home from getting sucked into a black hole.”

Jim grimaced, and Leonard could see he wasn’t getting through to him. He could also see the fresh sheen of sweat that was beading on the kid’s pale forehead. “Jim,” Leonard said, closing his fingers gently over the kid’s forearm, “we just witnessed genocide and the deaths of almost all our classmates. And you’re pretty badly hurt. You’ve got to put this down for now. Whatever bad blood there is between you and Spock can wait. Just let the dust settle a little, then you two can have a nice little talk. I’ll even be your fake psychologist mediator if it would make you feel better. But not tonight. You need to sleep and start healing. The equipment in the med bay is overloaded from all the other casualties, will be for the next twelve hours at least. Until then, you’re going to have to start getting better the old-fashioned way. You have to sleep.”

Jim nodded quietly. He still wouldn’t meet Leonard’s eyes.

Leonard sighed again. “I don’t want to give you a sedative ‘cause of the concussion. For once though, I don’t think you’ll have trouble dropping off.” Jim snorted, his eyelids already fluttering with exhaustion. Leonard rested his hand on Jim’s arm for a moment before standing and dragging the two chairs to the bedside. Once again, he settled in, setting a timer on his PADD to wake them both up in the next two hours. Leonard leaned back in the chair and put his feet up. “Lights, 0%,” he called softly.

A hand brushed gently against his arm where it rested near the bed. “Bones,” murmured Jim in the dark, his voice slurring with early sleep. “Thanks.”

Ignoring the soft heartbreak his friend’s words brought, Leonard closed his hand gently over Jim’s wrist. “No problem, kid.” As he slid into sleep, Leonard realized that it wasn’t the first time the two of them had done this.

000

Oh, Leonard was _so_ getting shitfaced tomorrow night.

The last day of finals for him. The two months of summer break lay before him like a glorious cornucopia of lazy weekends and slow days at the clinic– work, yes, but no homework. Just paperwork and tests and normal doctor shit. No more astrodynamics for Leonard Horatio McCoy, at least till the next trimester.

But first…

Leonard dragged himself reluctantly up the stairs to his dorm room. The lift was broken– reports of a rabid raccoon getting lodged in the shaftwork– so five flights up for the last two weeks had made Leonard feel like every day was leg day. His resolve quivered as he thought about what he had to do when he reached his room, too. Xenobiology was literally the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Though he normally loved it, in the last four days Leonard had written six essays, taken four exams and performed one physical analysis test. On top of clinic duty. Event things that normally made him happy were just making him tired now.

But he was so close, and he’d come so far. He would make it through this if it took every waking second between here and the test. One more day, and he was free.

Leonard let his head thump against his door as he punched in his code. God, he was tired. He wished briefly that Jim was around. Instead of getting tired like a normal freaking human, the kid seemed to draw energy from the chaos of finals. At least he had last trimester. They’d spent four days in the same study room last time, each taking turns to retrieve food or books or some kind of stimulant while the other watched their spot and gear. They slept on the floor. At least, Leonard slept. He woke up on more than one occasion at some ungodly hour of the night to see Jim standing on a chair at the whiteboard, penlight clamped between his teeth, painting out some obscure equation. Sometimes he wondered if Jim just pretended to sleep so Leonard wouldn’t give him shit, then got up and kept studying. Yet he never seemed to falter, and his unfailing tenacity had kept Leonard motivated more than once.

This year was different. It had been harder, a lot harder. Midterms and the following months had chewed them both up. Since finals week started, Leonard hadn’t seen hide or hair of his friend, though he would get the occasional late-night comm of Jim sending him an encouraging picture of a coffee mug and a stack of papers. Like the kid needed caffeine in his system too.

The door hummed open. Leonard went inside. He cast his heavy satchel on the floor near the door. It took him a minute to register that the lights were on.

Leonard paused. The air was cooler, too. Someone had opened a window, letting in the damp bay breeze.

“Hello?” Leonard called apprehensively. His roommate had gone home already. There shouldn’t be anyone else here.

The smell of coffee and stress hung in the air. Leonard proceeded into the apartment.

By the window, on the floor, sat Jim. Papers and four separate PADDs were fanned on the carpet before him. His back was to Leonard. A slender pair of old-fashioned noise-cancelling headphones sat on his head. He showed no indication that he’d heard Leonard come in.

Leonard heaved a sigh. He was both exasperated and a little relieved. He’d started to worry about Jim. They’d become so joined at the hip, he’d gotten used to his friend’s perpetual excitement, his constant brightness. Jim was by far the most fascinating friend Leonard had ever had. He’d come to enjoy living alongside his effervescence.

Yet there was a dark side to Jim’s mad brilliance. It had come out to Leonard little by little. Sometimes it would surface if they got disastrously drunk, Jim to the point of blackout, and he would murmur something about his parents or his stepfather or, far more rare, Tarsus IV. It was right around then that Leonard would gather him up and get him home. Jim kept an impressive lid on his demons. But when he disappeared for a few days, as he sometimes would, worry would creep into Leonard. Despite his backslide bullshit, his manic wildness, Jim had a ferociously loyal heart, and Leonard cared deeply about him. He feared sometimes for his soul. Jim drove himself so hard to outrun his past, he sometimes forgot to look where he was going.

Knowing better than to come up behind Jim when he was in the Zone, Leonard stomped twice on the floor. Jim straightened and twisted around, and Leonard tried to ignore the faint pallor of his face, the dark smudges under his eyes. “Hey, Bones,” Jim said, pulling the headphones down around his neck. His voice was rough.

“Jim,” Leonard replied. He put his bag down and settled against the back of the couch, so he was sitting and facing Jim. “How’s it coming?”

“Not too bad,” Jim said, turning back to his work. “You?”

“Just have Xenobio tomorrow afternoon, and I’m home free. The clinic was a bitch today, though. I had two of those damn-fool engineering track students come in with flashburns right after we had begun giving vegan choriomeningitis vaccinations to the fourth classes. Puri was out today, so we were short. It was a damn mess.” Leonard leaned back, resting his tired head against the back of the couch.

Jim hummed in acknowledgement, but did not turn around. Leonard looked idly over the papers splattered across the floor. Most were complex math equations, but he could make out a few phrases he knew to be part of the Federation peace codes. A thermos of what was presumably coffee stood sentinel at Jim’s left hip.

“How much do you have left?” Leonard murmured.

“Two exams tomorrow, two lab write-ups after that, a combat test Wednesday, and a systems eval on Thursday,” Jim said. He picked up a random sheet and taped it to the window. It had baffled Leonard at first, why Jim still used such an old-fashioned technology as paper. Jim had said he just needed to be able to hold the work in his hands sometimes. Move it around him and manipulate it in the way PADDs could not.

“Good Lord,” Leonard groused. “They’re running you into the ground over there in Command track. When do they expect you to sleep?”

“Never, I guess,” Jim said.

A little too glibly for Leonard’s liking. He narrowed his eyes. “Jim? Seriously, when did you last sleep? Don’t think I didn’t see those bags under your eyes.”

Jim’s shoulders winched a little tighter. “I said I’m fine, Bones. Leave it alone.” He shifted so his legs were under him, and he stood.

The irritation had been brewing in Leonard’s guts quickly flared into alarm when Jim suddenly staggered and caught himself against the window.

“Jim?” Leonard surged upward. He grasped Jim’s bicep, registered the faint tremor vibrating through his frame. “Jim, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” It was not an unreasonable question; on more than one occasion Leonard had come home to find Jim acting totally normal before collapsing on the floor from some hidden injury. Usually he gave Leonard at least some form of warning though.

Jim pushed off the wall and shook Leonard off. “No, Bones, I said I’m fine. Just got a little lightheaded.”

“Really?” Leonard caught Jim’s shoulders and turned him so Leonard could see him face-on. “’Cause you don’t look fine.” Up close Jim looked even worse than Leonard’s cursory glance earlier. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks drawn and pale, and he looked a good five pounds lighter than at the beginning of finals. Leonard could have kicked himself. Here he was, worrying about his own shit, when his best friend was wasting away right next to him. Jim always made sure Leonard was eating and sleeping and taking time off during finals. Leonard was a doctor, for chrissake, and he couldn’t even return the favor.

“Jim, when the hell was the last time you ate something? Have you slept at all in the last three days?”

“I can sleep when finals are over,” Jim said, knocking away Leonard’s hands once more and turning back to the papers taped to the window. “Seriously, drop it, Bones. I need to focus.”

The irritation returned, and Leonard bristled. “Yeah, so do I, and it’s hard for me to do that when you’re standing here in my dorm looking one strong gust of wind away from keeling over,” Leonard growled.

Jim didn’t answer. He had gone still, one hand pressed against the glass.

Leonard frowned. “Jim?”

“ _Shit,”_ Jim whispered, and it was all the warning Leonard had before Jim’s knees went out from under him.

With a startled yelp, Leonard lunged forward and managed to catch Jim before he cracked his head on the back of the couch. He hooked his arms under Jim’s shoulders and lowered him gently to the floor, trying to swallow the sick, scared feeling that threatened to choke him.

“Jim, hey, hey, talk to me, kid,” Leonard said. Jim groaned, eyelids fluttering.

Leonard grabbed a pillow from the couch and tucked it under Jim’s feet before resting his head gently on the floor. After retrieving his go-bag from the foyer where he had left it, he pulled out a tricorder and began scanning. Almost unconsciously, Leonard’s fingers went to Jim’s wrist for a pulse. The tricorder would tell him momentarily, but nothing beat the old-fashioned way– plus he wanted to assure himself that Jim was actually here next to him, at least in body if not in spirit.

Though the “spirit” part of that equation seemed to be returning. Jim shifted with a low moan. He lifted a hand to rub his face.

“Just stay still, Jim,” Leonard murmured, closing his hand over the rest of Jim’s wrist. Grounding them both.

“B’nes…?” Jim shifted again, and half-lifted his head. “Why…are we on the floor?”

“You passed out, dumbass,” Leonard said without any real heat. The tricorder pinged as its results came back. Leonard exhaled, purging some of his stress. “And that would be why. Your blood sugar is through the floor, and you’re really fucking dehydrated.” Leonard scowled. “At least you’re not bleeding out or something this time, but Jesus, Jim. You scared the shit out of me.”

Jim had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry, Bones.”

Having determined that Jim was not dying of some rare allergic reaction, and in fact just really needed lunch, Leonard put the tricorder away and fell back on his haunches. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him shaky. Normally he had no trouble compartmentalizing during a crisis. It made him a damn good doctor. But as always, Jim seemed to be the only exception. If he thought the kid was in trouble, logic seemed to take a hasty backseat.

Leonard sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “ _Now_ will you please tell me when you ate last?”

Jim winced. “I’m not sure. Thursday night maybe?”

It was Sunday. Leonard resisted the urge to throttle the kid. “And when did you last sleep?”

Jim swallowed loudly and looked away. “Um…also Thursday. But I’m fine, Bones, really.” With a grunt, he went to sit up. He got as far as levering his torso off the ground before his shaking arms gave out.

Leonard caught him and propped Jim’s side against his own. “Why don’t you hold still like I goddamn told you for a hot minute?” Leonard growled.

Jim shifted. “No, Bones, I need to study.” He tried to rise again, but Leonard looped an arm around Jim’s chest and held him tight.

“The hell you do,” Leonard said flatly. “You’re going to eat and hydrate, and sleep for at least four hours, and then we’ll see about studying.”

“No, Bones, you don’t understand, I have so much due, and there are two exams tomorrow–“ Jim squirmed weakly, but Leonard held fast.

“Jim,” Leonard said, using his best _I’m-your-attending-and-you-better-listen-to-me-you-little-shit_ tone, “you’re lucky you only fainted for a minute. And you’re lucky I was here to catch you so you didn’t break your head when you fell. You keep pushing like this and you’re going to have a goddamn seizure.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jim was still shaky, still too damn pale, but his eyes were fixed on the window where his notes were taped up and the piles of papers on the floor. “I’ll be fine, Bones, just let me go. I’ll eat after I study.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘It doesn’t matter?’” Leonard retorted. “Your health matters, Jim. Maybe not to you, but it matters to me, and it sure as shit matters a hell of a lot more than your grades–“

“No, it doesn’t– I _can’t_ let myself think like that, Bones,” Jim said, and Leonard was startled to hear a desperate edge to his words.

Leonard went still. “What, that your physical and mental well-being actually has merit–“

“That I can let myself slow down,” Jim cut in. “Or go easy on myself.” He tried to get up again, and again Leonard held him down, not missing that the tremor had returned.

“What– Jim, what do you mean?” Leonard knew Jim worked hard. He was a nerd at heart, and he held a voracious mind. He loved mastering new material at breakneck speed. Leonard had long suspected that there was a dark side to that obsessiveness, but he didn’t think it would come out here, at such an extreme, with Jim having passed out in his living room. Though, it was Jim, after all. Leonard really had to stop putting anything past the guy. “Jim, taking care of your body and mind is not ‘going easy on yourself.’ It’s basic fucking self-care. You’re allowed to do that– hell, you’re supposed to. No one would expect you to sacrifice your well-being for your grades.”

“Really?” Jim twisted out Leonard’s grip, but didn’t try to get up again. He only looked at Leonard, jaw set but lip trembling, eyes fierce. “Really, Bones? You sure about that? Because that’s not what they’ve been telling us since day fucking one here. On the Command track, if I have any chance at being an officer– not even captain, just getting my damn commission– I need to be in the upper eightieth percentile of the class body. Do you know how many people are on the Command track, Bones?”

“Jim, I–“

“And that’s not the half of it– I _have_ to do well Bones, I _have_ to be one of the best here, because out there in the black, anything less than perfection means someone’s going to fucking die, and I can’t– I can’t, I _won’t_ tolerate that.”

Leonard felt like he’d been gut-punched. Of course, _of course,_ that’s how Jim would see this. But Leonard had also undergone enough psych training to know that wasn’t the whole story here.

“Jim,” he said, “you’re not superhuman. You’re not going to be able to protect anyone if you’re not protecting yourself.” Leonard reached out and gripped Jim’s bicep, tried to catch his eyes where they were glaring into the floor. Jim looked up, and Leonard’s heart broke a little at the maelstrom of emotions he could see there– guilt, ferocity, fear, and more than a little self-loathing. Jim was as cryptic as they came for everyone else, but within the first few weeks of knowing him, Leonard began to decipher his codes, read between his many lines. Right now, though he was trying to hide it, Leonard could see the careful machinery of him. See how, from exhaustion and emotion, it was on the verge of flying apart.

“I…” Jim whispered. “I _can’t,_ Bones.”

Leonard’s grip tightened. “Why not, Jim?”

“Because…because if I mess up, if I fail…then Pike would’ve been wrong, and everyone else would be right– that I’m a fuckup– that I don’t deserve to be here– I shouldn’t be here, not in Starfleet, not anywhere. If I mess this up…” Jim’s eyes were glinting with unshed tears, and Leonard felt his own sting. “This is my last chance. If I mess this up then they’ll all be right. I’m a lost cause, and I don’t deserve to be here. I’m not good enough to be here. I never was.” Jim tore his eyes away and fixed them on the floor again, refusing to let the tears fall.

For a moment, Leonard felt like he couldn’t breathe. He’d always known– _of course_ he’d known– that one some deep level, Jim didn’t love or trust himself. One doesn’t survive an adolescence of genocide and abuse and not come away with some toxic thinking patterns. But Jim’s brilliance had deceived him. And all Leonard wanted to do was yank the kid in and hold him tight, to shield him from the universe and all its hurts, and tell him over and over that he was worth it and he was loved, tell him until Jim believed him.

But he knew better. He knew that it wasn’t that simple. It never was.

“Jim,” Leonard said gently, “how much of that is stuff people have actually told you, and how much is what you’ve told yourself?”

All the breath seemed to go out of Jim, and he cringed inward. “I– I’m not sure. I’ve had instructors tell me stuff like that, and…my stepfather used to. That I was…y’know, worthless.”

Right, of course. Jim’s piece of shit family and family-adjacent had to be part of this too. Rage sparked through Leonard’s bones, but he tamped it down.

“Jim…have you ever been to therapy?” Leonard asked carefully. Thank God there wasn’t as much stigma around mental illness that there used to be, but societal misunderstanding lingered in some ways.

Jim sniffled. “When I first got back from…Tarsus, they put in mandatory counseling. I didn’t stay long though. It wasn’t working, and…I really hated it, honestly.”

“Why?”

“I guess… it made me feel weak. Broken. Like something was wrong with me.”

Ah. That tracked. Leonard sighed. “You know, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and yet you somehow manage to be the biggest dumbass this side of the Briarpatch nebula.”

Jim looked up, startled. “What?”

Leonard shook him gently. “Jim, I know you. I know how you think. And I know you try to be all enigmatic and shit, but you’re my best friend, and you’re human like everyone else. You trust me, right?”

Jim scowled, as if the very idea that he didn’t trust Leonard was insulting. “With my life. Literally.”

“Then please trust me when I tell you that asking for help is not a sign of weakness. It’s actually one of the bravest things you can do, because you’re allowing yourself to be vulnerable. For you, for most of your life, vulnerability was dangerous. But it’s not like that anymore, Jim.” Leonard looked into his eyes, beseeching. Begging that Jim would believe him. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be superhuman. Taking care of yourself is not a failure– the only failure is running yourself into the ground, and not seeking help because you’re too scared.” Leonard took Jim’s other arm and nudged his chin with his knuckles, prompting the kid to meet his eyes. “And if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the people who care about you. It hurts to see you like this, Jim. And maybe you can’t believe this right now, but someday you’ll be able to understand how much I love you, kid.” Jim stared back at him, looking absolutely shattered, and Leonard realized he had reached a dark and distant part of Jim’s soul, a place where no one had gone before. He felt the weight of it, the responsibility, but also wild relief and protectiveness. 

“So if you can’t do it for yourself yet,” Leonard continued, “do it for me. Do it for Pike. Do it for the people who love you. You don’t have to fight so hard, Jim. Not anymore. I’ve got your back.” Leonard shook him gently again. “And I always will.”

For a long second, Jim sat frozen. And then–

“ _Bones,”_ he choked out. He fell forward against Leonard’s shoulder. Leonard pulled him in, pulled him close. He felt the shudders running through Jim’s body, the violent tension breaking apart, the tears that began to soak the back of Leonard’s shirt.

“It’s okay,” Leonard whispered. “It’s okay, Jim. I got you.” Jim folded against him, going limp in Leonard’s arms, and Leonard held him tighter.

In that moment, Leonard couldn’t know what was going to happen. He couldn’t know that he would help Jim find a good therapist who would teach him how to be a human being. That Jim would slowly, slowly, begin to take better care of himself. Or that a year and a half later, everything would go to shit in the silent orbit around a red planet, and Jim would come to recognize his true power and save the whole damn world.

No, tonight was the present only. It was Jim’s sobbing slowing down over time, him asking quietly, _Will you help me,_ and Leonard replying that of course he would, and knowing that the request went far beyond the here and now. It was him lifting Jim gently off the floor and walking him to his bed, prying off his boots and nudging him under the covers, and Leonard pulling up a chair over and curling up in it. It was him listening as Jim’s breathing evened out as sleep took him, and his hand somehow finding Leonard’s sleeve as he dropped off. It was Leonard circling his hand around Jim’s pulse point, and the steady thrum guiding him into the dark, a constant assertion, a mantra of hope: _Still here. Still here. Still here._

000

“Bones. Hey, Bones.”

Leonard woke with a start. His neck creaked as he lifted it from the mattress. Jim was awake, looking at him intently. 

“Jim? You okay?” Leonard scanned him quickly, and saw to his relief that Jim already looked better. The bruising had begun to fade, and some of the color had returned to his cheeks. Some of the latent kinesis that that always seemed to vibrate through his frame had reappeared.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jim said. “Honestly. I was just– can you help me up? I need to talk to Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fucking shit, I updated this story. Only took 3 years. Hell yeah!


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard stared at Jim. Sure, the kid looked better, but a glance at the chrono told Leonard that only four hours had passed since Jim had dropped off. Not nearly long enough to begin recovering from what he’d been through.

“Jim, what are you talking about? I thought you agreed to drop it until you healed!”

Jim looked pained. “I know, but Bones…” he looked down and began to pick at the edge of the sheet. It was a small tell, but one Leonard recognized instantly. Jim’s fingers couldn’t be still when he was distressed. He’d pick at whatever was near– the edge of a table, the cuff of his shirt, even a cut or scab. Leonard’s eyes tracked impulsively to the faint scar at Jim’s hairline, above his left eye– a nick that had turned into a nervous habit and taken Jim months to kick. Leonard had been able to tell the weight of Jim’s day by the amount of blood crusted under his fingernails.

Leonard rubbed his face. “You can’t sleep, can you?” he asked resignedly.

Jim shook his head, looking chagrined. “I promise I tried. But every time I close my eyes…” Jim grimaced. “I see his face when he got back from Vulcan and realized his mom was gone. And after…he ceded command. I just– I gotta talk to him, Bones. I won’t be able to rest until I make this right.”

Leonard sighed. He should have known better– even since they met, Leonard had known that Jim would never let something fester. He was stubborn as hell if he thought he was right, but he owned it instantly if he really messed up. It was something Leonard had always admired about him. Thing was, he didn’t think Jim was necessarily in the wrong this time. But he also knew that same stubbornness could apply here too.

“All right, Jim,” Leonard relented. “But he’s coming here. And as soon as you feel worse, you tell me, got it?”

Jim nodded contritely. “Yeah, Bones. Thanks.” He shifted, propping himself up on his elbows and pulling the blanket off his legs.

Leonard raised an eyebrow. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Jim looked up at him, something pleading in his face. “Bones, I’m not talking to him from a fucking bed. I already feel like an invalid, but I’m fine. Please, just let me get the hell up.”

Leonard resisted the urge to smack him. “Don’t be an idiot, Jim. I know you don’t want to look vulnerable in front of the hobgoblin, but he’s already seen you unconscious on the floor. The point’s pretty moot.”

Jim winced. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder.” His eyes were flinty.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Fine. You infant.”

Slowly, Leonard helped move Jim up and across the room to a small sitting area. Leonard guessed being CMO had its perks after all, one being a spacious cabin complete with a viewport and comfy chairs. The stars crept by outside, smudges of white the fathomless darkness, but where Leonard would once have felt fear at the sight, he now just felt tired. Tired, and deeply sad.

There was one less light out there tonight. As irritating as Spock was, Leonard’s heart ached for him. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose your entire homeworld. Even the secondhand grief that came with Leonard’s natural empathy was enough to bowl him over if he really thought about it.

Jim settled into the chair with a shallow sigh, keeping one arm wrapped around his shattered ribs. In the low light, Leonard could see that some of the bruising had begun to fade, but dark bands still circled Jim’s throat and ringed his eye and nose.

“You sure you up for this?” Leonard asked seriously.

Jim looked up at him, and the resolve in his pulped-up face was more than enough to convince Leonard. He knew that look.

Leonard commed Spock and asked him to come back. Then he broke into Puri’s stash of whiskey and poured himself a generous tot. He didn’t feel great about drinking a dead man’s liquor, but it had been a hell of a day. He sat down heavily next to Jim and let out a soft groan.

Jim eyed the glass. Leonard scowled. “Not a chance, kid. The only reason you’re on your feet at all is ‘cause I gave you enough painkillers for a goddamn thoroughbred. You want your stomach pumped tonight too?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jim said, throwing up his hands, but his eyes danced with mischief. It was almost enough to distract Leonard from the fear that shared space there.

“Jim,” Leonard said, letting some understanding creep into his tone.

Jim’s façade cracked. “I just…I hope he can forgive me. But I have no right to ask. I did a bad thing, Bones. A really bad thing.”

Leonard nudged Jim’s shoulder. “Yeah, maybe so. You did a bad thing.” Leonard looked hard at Jim, catching his gaze. “It was a bad thing, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the _right_ thing. You made the right choice, Jim. If you hadn’t done it, we’d all be dead.”

Jim looked down. “I know. I don’t regret it. But I still feel like shit.”

“Fair enough. But why do you care so hard about this, anyway? It’s not like you haven’t hurt people’s feeling before.” Leonard ticked his head. “Granted, maybe not quite like this. Still, why is this so important to you? You didn’t even know the guy two days ago.”

Jim frowned. “I don’t know, Bones. It’s just…it’s just this feeling. Like I’m going to need him in my life after this. And I don’t want to screw it up.”

Leonard’s eyebrows climbed. Interesting. “Jim, I’ve never known your instincts to be wrong. But Spock? Really?”

Jim looked up, and Leonard was startled by the certainty in his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know why, Bones. It’s just a feeling. And either way, I need to apologize. If he’ll let me.”

Leonard leaned back into the chair. “Something tells me he will, Jim.” He took a sip of the whiskey, letting its cold burn sluice away some of the tense grief twisted around his heart.

The cabin’s entrance pinged.

“Enter,” Jim called hoarsely. The door slid open, and Spock strode almost silently into the room. He came to a terse halt before where Jim and Leonard sat, back ramrod straight, despite, by Leonard’s count, his shift having just finished. 

“Captain,” Spock greeted neutrally. “Though it pleases me to see you conscious, I must ask if you have risen prematurely. It has only been a few hours since I left you and Doctor McCoy.”

To Leonard’s surprise, Jim smiled faintly. “I appreciate you concern, Mr. Spock. But I’m okay.”

Spock’s eyebrows lowered fractionally. “Then may I ask why my assistance is required?”

“Not assistance, per se,” Jim replied. “More your presence. Spock, please, have a seat. You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

Leonard was looking for it this time, so he didn’t miss the faint tightening of Spock’s eyes as he sat stiffly in the remaining chair, facing Leonard and Jim.

“Spock…” Jim began, the full gravity of the day in his voice. “I…I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Maybe it was the tragedy they had just seen. Maybe the emotions were running so high through the whole damn ship that not even the arctic half-Vulcan could hold them off.

Because at Jim’s words, something in Spock seemed to shatter. He crumpled forward slightly, elbows finding his knees, eyes wide and expression broken open. “Captain–“

“For God’s sake, it’s Jim, Spock, we’re not on the fucking bridge,” Jim cut in. And now that he was talking, Jim seemed unable to stop. The words spilled out of him with a gentle desperation Leonard had only seen a few times. “Spock, I need you to know that I didn’t mean any of it. Any of the shit I said– I had to get command, I had to, but I didn’t mean any of it. I know you loved your mother, and your fucking homeworld was just destroyed, and I took all the pain you were feeling and I twisted it against you. And I’m so, so sorry. I don’t expect forgiveness, and you don’t have to say anything. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. And… I wish we had met under better circumstances, because you’re a good man, Spock. And it would have been an honor to serve with you.” Jim was looking at Spock with a raw sincerity, something entirely void of dishonestly, and Leonard felt a little bit of awe at the intensity it carried with it. “Spock, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For all of it.” Jim looked down, his piece apparently said.

For a moment, there was a profound silence. Leonard looked over to see Spock still staring at Jim with that blown-open expression, and with a strange wonder, like he was seeing an entirely new person before him.

And in a way, he was. This was what Jim saved for the people he really cared about. This was the truth of him. To the rest of the world he was an arrogant hotshot, a bright-eyed bastard with too much to prove. But Leonard knew what lay behind the veneer. That brilliant love that Jim let shine for only a few.

“Captain…” Spock began hesitantly.

“Jesus, Spock, it’s Jim.” Jim was looking at the floor, shoulders hunched.

“Cap– Jim…” Spock spoke slowly, and his voice seemed a few octaves lower than normal. “I deeply appreciate your apology. Though I feel obligated to point out that not only were several of these circumstances beyond your control, you are also justified in your actions.”

Jim tensed. “I refuse to live in a universe where the ends justify the means, Spock.”

“As do I. Yet in this case, I believe an exception may be made.”

“It was still a terrible thing to do–“

“Jim,” Spock said, and the calm yet arresting intent in his tone made Leonard startle and Jim promptly clam up. “Please. Allow me to finish. There was indeed a time when I felt such absolutes should never be transgressed. However, the universe does not operate within absolutes, a fact that I have come to accept…particularly over the last forty-six hours.”

At this Jim looked up, something vulnerable in his face. Spock continued, “What we have just survived…what we have lost…these things do not exist within a binary. One could not contain their magnitude such narrow channels. We follow a code of honor, of right from wrong. You have taught me that upholding that code can at times require unconventional methods, including methods that conflict with contemporary social mores. However, in doing so, your intent was always just. What is the Terran phrase– ‘Your mind was in the right place?’” And beyond that…” Spock looked to the floor, and it was the first time since the fight on the bridge that Leonard had seen him break his composure. Spock’s features were carven with pain. “Jim, if anything, it is I who should be apologizing. I contributed profoundly to your current injuries by allowing my emotions to usurp my logic. I could very well have killed you. If not for my father’s intervention…” Shame clouded the words. “Jim, I am sorry. Though you sought my reaction to display my compromised nature, I am ashamed by my behavior and the harm it inflicted upon you. Though you have tried to hide it, I have seen your physiological reaction to my presence. With this in mind, I too do not ask for or expect forgiveness, and if you wish you part ways permanently upon our return to Earth, I will harbor no ill will toward you.”

For a moment there was silence. Leonard was still, the whiskey glass motionless in his fingers. He was stunned by what he had just heard.

Then Jim said, quietly, “It’s your heart.”

Spock blinked. “Pardon?”

“The phrase– your heart’s in the right place, not your mind. It’s more appropriate too. I think, for people like us, the heart will always end up taking up more room than the mind.” Jim fixed Spock with that laser gaze. “Even you, Spock. We are both emotional creatures, despite our best efforts.” Jim reached out and brushed his knuckles against Spock’s shoulder, and to Leonard’s surprise, Spock leaned into the touch. “I will not forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive. If you hadn’t done what you did, we’d all be dead, Spock. I’m grateful. And I’m grateful you gave me a chance, despite it all.”

Spock’s throat worked. “Jim…the feelings are entirely mutual. I too am thankful for what you did, even if, in the process of arriving here, we hurt one another. I owe you my life, and my only remaining planet. I fear my gratitude cannot be put into words.”

Jim’s eyes were soft, his expression warm. “Don’t worry about it, Spock.”

Leonard could hear the sincerity in Jim’s voice, but Spock still looked troubled. “I thank you for your compassion, Jim. But there is another matter that weighs heavily on my heart for which, while we are on such topics, I would appreciate your input.”

Some of the ease slipped from Jim’s face. He leaned forward a little. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Leonard could guess where this was going, and he didn’t like it a bit. He moved a little closer to Jim, propping his leg against Jim’s chair. Jim shifted so his calf rested warmly on Leonard’s.

Spock’s expression twisted with pain. “As Dr. McCoy informed you when you first awoke, you had been having a nightmare. In your sleep you mentioned certain…names and placed associated with a rather infamous event in Starfleet history.”

Jim’s brow furrowed, then cleared with sudden understanding. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, hell, Spock. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I did not wish to keep it from you. Knowing about other events in your past, I imagine there are parts of your personal history I assume you would wish to keep private.”

“You assume correctly,” Jim replied. “Yeah, I don’t go prancing around advertising the fact that I’m a Tarsus survivor.” Jim ticked his head, starlight glinting off his hair and turning it platinum. “But honestly, I’m glad you know, Spock.”

Spock looked confused. “Jim?”

Jim fixed Spock again perceptively. “You being half-human, I’m sure your childhood wasn’t exactly orthodox, either. And with what happened today…” Jim looked through the porthole, out into the black. A comet flared into life and disappeared just as quickly, and Leonard watched Jim’s eyes track it. “We’re both survivors of genocide, Spock. I lived through it, barely. I watched it from the ground because I was there. I was shot at, starved, beaten. I got caught. I was tortured. I watched my family get killed. I was a kid. But I would rather take all that that than endure what you had to today. To watch your home die while you were so far away and couldn’t do jack shit to stop it.”

Jim turned back to look at Spock, square him with those piercing eyes, those eyes in which Leonard could sometimes see all the promise of the stars. The light and the fire, the roaring gravity, a home to the rarest of elements. Leonard knew that when Jim looked at someone like that, looked at them with all his walls down, they would both come away a little different. It was that power in his mind that had taken command and saved them all today. And it was the love in heart that made him want to. To save a world that had been relentlessly cruel. To forgive even those who had hurt him.

“Spock,” Jim continued. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we get back to earth. They might give me the ship. More likely, they’ll arrest me, court-martial me, and kick me out of the academy. But no matter what happens…” Jim looked as deadly serious as Leonard had ever seen him. “If there is anything I can do to help– anything I can do to make this hurt a little less, the first few months are the worst– please tell me. No matter what happens, if you need me, I’ll be there. When I got back from Tarsus I didn’t have anybody. I don’t want you to have to go through that. _No one_ should have to go through that. So if you need to talk, I’ll be there.” Jim half-smirked. “And if, by some miracle, I do end up in command someday…I want you there, as part of my crew.”

Leonard glanced over at Spock, wondering how he was taking all this. He was stunned to see Spock’s eyes glinting with half-hidden tears. “Why?” Spock asked hoarsely.

Jim smiled gently. “Because I trust you. And you’re a good man. And for some reason, you’ve put up with my bullshit up until this point. Only one other person in my life has done that, and he’s sitting right next to me.”

“An ongoing mystery even to me, kid,” Leonard groused, but he smiled softly at the warmth Jim’s words made bloom in his chest.

“I too cannot predict what the future may hold,” Spock said, voice still rough but firm with conviction, “but if the opportunity presents itself, I would be honored to serve beside you. And you as well, Doctor. You amply proved your worth as both a physician and a sentient being today.”

Leonard felt his ears heat up at the compliment, and it was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Spock refused to make eye contact. “Eh, I’ve had plenty of practice with the infant over there,” Leonard snarked, grinning at Jim. “I seriously don’t know why I keep you alive sometimes.”

“Me neither,” Jim admitted, snorting. “After all the times I puked on your shoes, stole all your coffee and took over your sofa back at the academy, I’m surprised you haven’t slipped any arsenic into my annuals yet.”

Leonard chuckled, and just like that, the gravity of the conversation lessened and gave way. But when Leonard glanced over at Spock, he was stunned to see that his shining eyes had spilled over. Spock ducked his head, surreptitiously swiping at the tears. Leonard looked away, feeling almost voyeuristic. Seeing a Vulcan cry seemed an irrevocably intimate thing.

Leonard’s throat worked, and he looked back to Jim. One look and he knew that Jim had seen Spock’s tears as well, and was going to promptly dismiss the fact that it had ever happened. Leonard was all too happy to do the same. “One of these days,” he threatened. “Maybe not arsenic, but chloroform, definitely. Maybe that will get you to sit still long enough to let me administer your fucking shots.”

Jim grinned at him cheekily. “You wouldn’t have it any other way, Bonesy.”

Leonard opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when an image suddenly struck him: a punk-ass kid with a swollen lip and too-blue eyes old blood dotting his shirt, who offered comfort to a stranger having a panic attack on a shuttlecraft.

Of late-night calls and broken ribs and spontaneous latte deliveries, sharing a table to eat or study, coming home to find his fridge empty and his couch occupied.

Of three wild years of fear and stress, of Leonard’s life shattering and starting over, and somewhere in there that kid had come along rattled Leonard’s cage– rattled him right out of it, in the best possible way. Jim had drawn Leonard out of the pain that came after the divorce, after his father’s death, and taught him to see in color again after the world had gone gray. And in turn, Leonard saw past the bravado and brashness and got at the core of who Jim really was– a survivor and protector, ferociously curious, damaged and brilliant and brave.

And Leonard couldn’t imagine his life without him. He didn’t even want to try.

“You’re right,” Leonard replied, voice a little thick. “I wouldn’t.”

Jim frowned, like he was going to ask what was wrong, but Leonard just nudged his shin in a silent comfort. Jim’s face relaxed in a gentle grin.

For a few long moments a comfortable quiet lay between the three of them. The low, dense hum of the engine sent a pleasant buzzing through Leonard’s bones. He was tired, but the quarters were warm and the lights were low, and he was quite content to sit here and let his aching body be still.

Outside, the stars were impossibly bright. Jim was always going on about how beautiful space really was. Leonard couldn’t help but think that maybe he was right.

A ship to call their own. A crew of good, trustworthy people. Them and the unknown, out in the black. The more Leonard thought about it, the better it sounded.

_I could get used to this._

“No,” he repeated, quietly, mostly to himself, though he knew Jim heard him. “I wouldn’t.”

In two weeks they would get back to Earth, and shit would hit the fan again. In eight hours, Leonard would go back on duty. None of it mattered. The future was unwritten, and would remain so regardless of what they did. If the last 48 hours had proven anything, it was that.

What mattered was that they were alive. Despite everything, _God,_ they were still alive. Leonard drank in the knowledge like water.

“We’re going home,” Leonard said at length, almost sadly, as the stars blinked by.

“No, we’re not,” Jim said. He caught Leonard’s eye, and Spock’s now-dry one. “We’re not. We’re already home. Home is out here. And we’ll build it ourselves.”

Jim’s eyes shone as he spoke, and Leonard realized that he absolutely meant it.

Jim had gotten a taste of his dream, and nothing would stop him from following it. And God help him, nothing would stop Leonard from following right along with him.

Spock’s expression softened. “I like the prospect, gentlemen.”

Leonard clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Sounds like a plan, kid.” Jim grinned back, that wild light in his eyes.

No, Leonard didn’t know what was going to happen. And with that, the future lay before them like an unwritten story, a comet trail waiting to be followed. He was here. Jim was here. They had each other’s backs to the ends of the universe.

That was enough for Leonard. It always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Almost four years, and this baby is done. Thanks for sticking with it, everyone! 
> 
> This story is dedicated to one of my best friends. Kate, somehow a greasy basement in college and a Star Trek t-shirt was enough to spark one of my most precious friendships. Thanks for building a home with me. Love ya, dude.


End file.
